Near-death drama

March 17, 2008 By

It has been 12 years since the day I almost died.

I seldom reflect upon it anymore, nor have I really written about it. Well, except for when I poured out my soul for an essay contest in college, only to win an honorable mention. I suspect I would have taken first if I’d have actually died. Nothing like tales from the crypt….

Memories of my accident came back to haunt me in consuming flashes last week on our way home from a trip. A semi-truck did not see our SUV and changed into our lane. I do not want to think what would have happened if my husband had not been quick to react. Shaking, I looked over to the right-hand side of the car at my sweet boy who would have received the brunt of the impact. Once again, I was reminded of what a simple blessing it is to be alive.

It was March 1996 and my friend Heidi and I planned to ski at Park City Mountain Resort. I was the Executive Director of PR for our student government and had been heavily promoting this student-sanctioned ski day. And so what better way to publicize it than to skip school and do it?

I had intended to clean out my car but didn’t have time so we threw our skis in the backseat and grabbed some fast food instead. We were driving on the I-15 gabbing away when we encountered a slow-moving semi truck in the middle lane. The left-hand lane was blocked, so without hesitation I moved to pass the semi in the right lane.

That was when it happened.

Without seeing us, the semi changed into my lane, sending us reeling across the three lanes of traffic into the median. We bounced off it in a deadly pinball game, only to land underneath the back tires of the truck. It proceeded to run over the backseat of my car and spew us back out onto the median.

This is the account the witnesses gave. My experience was very different. I felt the initial impact and knew we were spinning. But then there was light. It wasn’t something that I saw but rather, it was something that penetrated me to my core. I lived an eternity in those few seconds that I could never even try to describe other than to say I have never felt so divinely protected.

When we finally stopped, there was a long pause as we sat in stunned silence. I chose to break it.

“Heidi, I don’t think we’re going skiing today.” Hilarity ensued. We surveyed the damage. The semi’s tire tracks were merely three inches from my seat, completely destroying the back of the car where our skis were located.

“I’m sure glad I didn’t clean my car today.” More laughter.

Within moments, a trauma nurse and police officer were on the scene. “These girls are delirious,” they prescribed.

I didn’t have heart to tell him we were always like that.

Eventually, they had to call in the jaws of life to get us out. We were rushed to the hospital and were miraculously given a clean bill of health.

Well, minus some inevitable bruises and whiplash. The next day when I was limping around my apartment, someone asked how I was doing.

I looked pointedly at them before blithely replying, “I feel like I’ve been run over by a semi.”

Duh. :-)

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, issues

“Ask Amber” – Insights into the non-domestic world

February 29, 2008 By

My domestic prowess has been put into question lately. Even though I will not go anywhere near a sewing machine or ironing board, I excel in the kitchen.

Usually.

Ask Amber How to Burn Noodles

I am glad you asked this question because it is very rare that one is able to accomplish such a feat using only spaghetti noodles and water.

The process: have a dinner party with only 15 minutes to cook four large packages of noodles. Grab a large sauce pan, fill with water, heat to boiling and then cram all the noodles inside the pan. Leave the noodles to hurriedly prepare your family for the party. Make sure not to stir them even once. Return 10 minutes later to find the noodles clumped together, stuck to the bottom of the pan.

Voila, burnt noodles!

Editor’s Note: Also make sure you leave the pan soaking in the sink for a minimum of two weeks, hoping the stubborn spots will mysteriously disappear. Or just secretly hope your husband will take care of it.

Editor’s Note No. 2: He won’t.

Ask Amber How to Destroy Your Ice Maker

This one is tricky and the key is not to learn from your mistakes the first time. Ensure you have some kind of event for which you will need quick access to something on top of the refrigerator. Our event was Halloween and our “somethings” were black nail polish and lipstick for my daughter’s witch costume.

Make sure you are too lazy to return the somethings to their correct home after the event. Then, when the lipstick falls off the fridge into the ice machine and comes out in cute little back cubes, ensure your in-laws are visiting so as to showcase your domesticity. Or stupidity. You decide.

Do not learn from this mistake. Mourn the demise of the lipstick but keep the nail polish on top of the fridge and wait for its inevitable demise. Because it will happen. And when it does, your Spidey senses will be tingling just like the magnanimous black goop that infiltrated everything in Spider-Man 3.

Editor’s note: I know this is “Ask Amber” but now I am asking you how to get the nail polish off? I just hope this does not destroy my street cred….

Ask Amber How to Keep Your Fridge Smelling Clean

Me: The fridge smells really bad. I think I’ll get one of those Arm & Hammer boxes next time I’m at the store.

Hubby: Y’know, you could try cleaning it.

[Long pause of consideration]

Me: Naw. I think I’ll just stick to the baking soda, thanks.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Humor

My [Not So] Funny Valentine

February 11, 2008 By

During my single years, the road was rocky as I attempted to find a man who would one day be legally required to be my Valentine.

Some people call it marriage.

My most memorable S.A.D. (Single Awareness Day) was my junior year of college. I had been casually dating a guy for a month. When I say casually, I mean casually. Even though we spent an inordinate amount of time together, he had shown no romantic inclinations towards me.

He was a bit of an anomaly: drop-dead gorgeous and absolutely clueless. Women fawned over him but he was immune to their charms. He was on the fast-track in business school but was also dirt poor and worked as an on-campus janitor at 4 a.m. One gal who lived in his apartment complex offered to drive him every morning. At 3:30 a.m. “Oh, she is just being nice,” he rationalized. “Besides, she drops me off on the way to the track.” The track that did not open until 5 a.m.

I decided that if he did not make his move on Valentine’s Day that he never would. My parents had even sent him $20 to take me to dinner. But the big day approached and nothing happened. No invitation, no flowers, nothing. He finally called me the night before.

“Hey, do you have plans tomorrow?”
“Well, not exactly,” I replied coyly. “What do you have in mind?”
“I have a film I need to see for my biology class.”

Surely he was kidding. It was a cover for a romantic evening when he would finally profess his undying love for me.

“Sounds like fun!” I would play along.

When he arrived at my doorstep the next evening, he was exuberant. “Hey, thank your parents for the money they sent me!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t have to donate plasma this week and was able to put it to good use.”

Good use that evidently did not include taking me to dinner.

I still had not lost hope. Until he took me to the theatre in the biology building on campus. As dread infiltrated my very being, I realized this was all there was. I was simply a buddy he was dragging along to fulfill his class credit. Just when I thought it could not get worse, it did.

The film de choix?

Fetal Development: A Nine-Month Journey.

That was the last I ever saw of him.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Humor

Mommy Blogger Transformer

December 13, 2007 By

Like many of you, I have a lot going down these days and here are a few highlights:

Terrific 3s

Thanks for all the GREAT advice and empathy you gave regarding my Little Terrible 3. From the sound of it, the 3s are far worse than the 2s for many people. In honor of of the CBS show Kid Nation, maybe we should just pool together all the bi-polar three-year-olds in the world and let them duke it out.

Then again, our species would be rendered obsolete.

Bugged Out

We have all acquired a lovely bug at our house that manifests itself at both ends. Hands down, my most trying times as a mom are when I am sick and required to take care of everyone. I think I will start a foundation aimed to take care of mamas when they are sick. Any takers?

Tree Killer

The man who grew the biggest pumpkin in town has killed our Christmas tree only a couple of weeks after purchase. And then he murdered my beautiful maroon poinsettia. Next stop: the Christmas spirit?

Swappin’ Recipes

I have been over at Mile High Mamas a lot this week. I am here to remind you that today is the final full day to share your favorite holiday recipes and be entered to win our fantastic prize package and possibly land yourself in The Denver Post.

The Great Transformer

My post today at MHM is all about confessionals. Have you lived your entire life denouncing a particular product, only to do a complete about-face? I call it a change of heart.

Jamie calls it hypocrisy.

Either way, come checkout my mind-boggling transformation.

And minivan drivers, stand tall, stand proud. This post’s for you.

==================

Admittedly, when Dodge contacted Mile High Mamas during their quest to find 50 local moms to test drive their 2008 Dodge Caravan, I scoffed. To say I am not a fan of minivans is an understatement. My sole reasoning behind my disdain for them was summed up in Chipotle’s recent ad campaign that attested, “There is no such thing as a cool minivan.”

The evidence:

No. 1: My ultra-cool neighbors (who bear a strong physical resemblance to Gabrielle and Carlos Solis on Desperate Housewives) considered buying a minivan last year. Instead of being supportive, I teased them to no end that they were “selling out their coolness.” This would later come back to bite me in the buttocks.

No. 2: During my qualifying interview with Dodge, they asked me if I would ever consider driving a minivan. I, of course, lied and said “Yes.” When asked what kind of minivan I would buy, I could not come up with even one example until they prompted me with, “Well, how about a Dodge Caravan?” Miraculously, I still qualified.

I would like to say it took me a while to warm up to the Caravan given my history. But after my half-hour tour of all its many charms, I was in love. Just like that, a convert. It was like living those many years pro-Diet Coke, only to have a swig of the enemy – Diet Pepsi – and to never look back.

It was just so convenient. With its power sliding doors, trunk, everything, the two LCD screens with accompanying DVD players, SIRIUS Satellite TV and Radio, the GPS to confirm just how lost I can become, the swivel seating system that allowed rear-seat passengers to swivel around to face each other while accommodating a stoable center table. IMG 8157 And not to be forgotten is the rear video camera that transmitted to the dashboard LCD screen, letting me see exactly what I was going to hit whilst backing up.

My husband says he has not seen a sell-out like this since The Simpson’s Krusty the Clown turned corporate.

We took my new love down to Colorado Springs and traveling with the kids was seamless. Imagine that: a seamless road trip. I never thought that possible.

During my week-long love affair, I still had this nagging feeling that I was selling out on my coolness. But then came my epiphany:

I am an unshowered mother of two children and my days of being cool are over.

Thanks, Dodge.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Humor

My Most Difficult Post: Get Found, Kid

November 18, 2007 By
I don’t know where it came from.

It was not something I have been reflecting upon a significant amount lately. I just woke up last Saturday and I felt compelled to write. Maybe because it is a story that has been suppressed for so long. Or because I feel there is someone out there who needs to hear it.

All I know is it has been a difficult perspective-inducing journey. One that I hope no one else will choose to follow. (Originally published at Mile High Mamas).


======

Years ago, I read an article by Robert Fulghum in The Reader’s Digest that I have never forgotten. Now I know why.

He spoke of a neighborhood hide-and-seek game. As children scattered, he noted there was always that one kid who hid so well, nobody could find him. After a while they would give up on him and leave him to rot wherever he was.

Sooner or later he would show up, all mad because they didn’t keep looking for him. In turn, the “seekers”would get mad back because he wasn’t playing the game the way it was supposed to be played. There’s hiding and there’s finding. But sure enough the next time around, he would hide too well again.

As Fulghum reflected upon his childhood merriment, he spotted a kid hiding under a pile of leaves. He walked over and shouted, “GET FOUND, KID,” scaring the life out of him and probably sending him home for shock treatment.

My mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis 25 years ago.She was that person: a successful business owner whose domestic prowess was renowned throughout the city. She was the life of the party, the one even my friends came to visit.

The disease crept in slowly like a predator stalking its prey. We could never talk about it. We lived for years with a monster hiding under the covers. Maybe if it was just not discussed, it would go away.

It never did.

A grown-up game of hide-and-seek. Wounded and hiding. Prideful and worried about being pitied. Desperately wanting to be found. But all play and suffering were done alone.

There were times she just wanted to die. And I wanted her to die. Not because I could bear the thought of losing her but because when you see someone you love suffer so much you want the ultimate healing – even if that means death.

Today, she is the shell of the woman she once was. Time is slowing eroding her battle. She has good and bad days but I feel grateful she held out. That my husband and children have come to know even a small piece of my incredible mother.

I just wish she would let us in.

Forget hide-and-seek. Fulghum asserted that we should be sardine players. If you are it, you are the one who hides and everyone comes looking for you. When you are found, everyone piles in. Before long, someone usually giggles and your cover is blown – together.

Life as a game of sardines.

Ready or not, here I come….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Health

A Sneak Peak at Our Revolutionary Best-Selling Parenting Book

October 22, 2007 By

I never fancied myself to be a ballerina, which is particularly ironic since I’m walking on my tiptoes a lot these days. And also on egg shells.

My daughter Hurricane Hadley has become a tyrant. When I offer suggestions for a snack, I brace myself for the unleashing of how dare I even suggest something so unthinkable as apples. When I pretend to turn her into a princess with my magic wand, I am sent to the dungeons because I held the wand at the wrong angle. Anything sets her off, which makes me wonder if she has some kind of chemical imbalance.

Or if it’s the fact that she’s turning three years old this month.

I had heard from some that the 3s were worse than the 2s. Doubting Thomas that I am, I didn’t buy in. And now here I am: sold out.

We recently had a good day with what I would consider to be a reasonable amount of T.O.N. (Tantrums Over Nothing). We were sitting on our leather sofa watching out the window for my husband Jamie to come home. I looked down at how precious she was being and decided she needed some positive reinforcement.

“You know, Mommy is so happy with how sweet you’ve been today. Thank you for being so nice to your brother Bode and me.”

Within seconds, seconds people, she started acting up and it did not stop the rest of the night.

As we were eating dinner, she miraculously downed most of the curry chicken phyllos I made and I decided again: positive reinforcement.

“Haddie, what a great eater you’re being tonight!”

Within milliseconds, milliseconds people, she choked out her food and spewed it all over the floor. Jamie looked at me dubiously.

“Hey Amber. Here’s a new parenting strategy for you. How about ditch this positive reinforcement crap and STOP WITH THE COMPLIMENTS.”

We’ll begin our book tour next month.

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Hadley, Humor, Jamie

Dumb and Dumber: Mile High-style

September 22, 2007 By

There are some mornings that I wakeup and feel indomitable. Coincidentally, these are the same mornings I received miminal sleep. The result is a veritable delusion of grandeur.

I had a summer of these. Hey, why not climb..limp crawl up Colorado’s highest peak? Or better yet, let’s bike 25 miles in the mountains hauling the kids. Gee, that sounds like fun!

Last week was no different.

I decided to bike the Clear Creek Trail along Highway 58 from the I-70 junction to Lion’s Park in Golden. Hauling the kids. Uphill. Both ways.

Now, let’s see. Child #1: 32 pounds + Child #2: 23 pounds + 15-pound Chariot carrier + everything including the kitchen sink to keep the kids entertained = a tabulation I care not to compute. Why would I? I lived every stinkin’ pound of it.

I will spare you the gory details but in the end, we miraculously made it. Well, at least the kids did.

Blasted from the Past

I should have learned my lesson from when these same delusions led me to roller-blade that path a couple of years ago. I had started out strong. Smooth, powerful strokes. I was completely alone on the trail, which I love. But then I encountered hill #1. No problem. My pace slowed a bit but I triumphantly summited.

Then came Hill #2, then #3. All was fine and dandy until it came time to turn around.

But then came the “Ohhhhhhhh fudge” (I blame Ralphie from The Christmas Story).

During my jubilation of conquering the trail, I hadn’t realized how truly steep my ascent was. For those who have ever been on roller-blades, stopping while careening 100 miles an hour down a hill can be problematic. For me, it proved to catastrophic. Because in addition to the steep hills, there were also signs everywhere with the squiggly arrow (the official road-sign term, I’m sure). You know, the one that says “You’re dead if you don’t follow the hairpin curves.”

The rest of the story was not pretty. What ticks me off is do you think anyone witnessed my triumphant ascent? Nooooooooo. But now bikers started coming out of the woodwork as I desperately clutched the railing, my legs wedged in a snow-plow…errr..asphalt-plow.

In the end, I only suffered a few scrapes and a bruised ego. But worry not, after these two sordid experiences I have certainly learned my lesson.

Until my next episode of sleep deprivation, that is.

Filed Under: biking, Bode, Colorado, Favorite Posts, Hadley, Humor

My Coming Out Party

August 30, 2007 By

On Tuesday, one of my former Seminary students came by for lunch prior to leaving for BYU. Sariah was one of my favorites in the class because 1) she was always early and believe me, 6 a.m. was early enough and 2) she never missed a day. I wish I could say the same for myself.

Oh, and she did not sleep or stare at me like I was recently transplanted from another planet. Hmmm…perhaps that is why they call us illegal aliens.

During our visit, she added to my list of reasons of why she was among my favorite students: she actually listened in class. And remembered. I was shocked as she relayed experiences I had shared a few years back. Ones I had safely locked away in my vault called Oh, the Insanity. And so thank you, Sariah for reopening that….

It was my junior year at BYU. Well, my first of three junior years if you’re really counting. I had just been accepted into the broadcast journalism program and had the illustrious job of Grunt around KBYU’s newsroom.

I worked the teleprompter and did important jobs such as inform the snotty anchor if she had lipstick on her teeth. Because most anchors are snotty, with the exception of Jed Boal and Ron Burgundy. The first of whom I actually dated; the second I only wish I had.

One day, the newscast got preempted. To kill time, one of the cameramen asked Tony (a fellow Grunt) and I if we wanted a lesson. Tony started behind the camera and I trotted over to the news desk, intending to give the best fake newscast imaginable.

I’m not sure when things started getting out of hand. Was it when I did my muscle poses at the weather board? Or when the cameraman taught Tony how to frame a shot by zooming in and out on my chest as I hammed it up by shaking ‘em like I was in a mariachi band?

I was in the midst of my finale when a voice screeched out from the control room. A voice that still resonates today:

“CUT THE CAMERA! WE’VE BEEN ON THE AIR THE WHOLE TIME!”

Turns out, the newscast had not been preempted after all and had gone live at the top of the hour. For fifteen long minutes, my muscles and cha chas were splayed across the airwaves for all 14 ultra-conservative KBYU viewers to see.

My face heats up just thinking about it but my debut was undoubtedly legendary. After all, it was probably the only program to ever receive a PG-13 rating on that station. Or maybe more like an ‘R’…..

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Humor Tagged With:

Happy Anniversary to Hunky Hubby!

February 15, 2007 By

It’s been four years since the best day of my life: the day I married ma honey. Many people list the day their child was born as the best day of their life. They obviously forgot the torturous 9-month journey to get there and a little thing called labor. Sure, the miraculous reward takes your breath away but for me, the lead-up definitely trumped the aftermath. And afterbirth.

But my wedding day was perfect. In atypical Amber “Murphy” fashion, the day actually went smoothly. In my dictionary, such an occurrence is called a miracle.

We awoke to freshly fallen snow and I thought “Oh here it begins.” Denver had been in a drought that winter and this was the first snowfall in months. On my wedding day. I thought for sure we’d be snowed in but it had the opposite effect: we had a surreal winter wonderland and our pictures turned out beautifully.

We were married in the Denver LDS temple surrounded by everyone we loved, followed by a luncheon at the Marriott for close friends and family, and a reception at a beautifully rustic lodge in the mountains, complete with roaring fires, oodles of votive candles and the warm embrace of the Continental Divide.

And don’t go into shock: I even boogied to our song, Sting’s “When We Danced.” And the greatest lesson in marriage was revealed to me at that time: watch your back.


Oh, I mean that I am so unbelievably blessed to have married a man who, above all, gets me.


And one who puts up with me. One of my anniversary traditions is to write an annual poem detailing our life together. This year, I mentioned our focus on blogging and also the debut of Jamie’s blog, “Crazy Canuck: The Truth Set Free,” his attempt to defend himself against me. And so, a profundity from my latest, humble offering:

“Blogging was central, and Jamie’s countering blog was unveiled
As he searched for the ‘truth’; too bad he failed.”

So let it be written, so let it be done.

And so now it’s your turn: where were you married, what was your song (if you had one) or what was your favorite wedding memory?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog
Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Jamie
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